


roll down the smokescreen

by kitmarlowed



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4393007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmarlowed/pseuds/kitmarlowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yes, well</p>
<p>(set in s1, because, well)</p>
            </blockquote>





	roll down the smokescreen

**Author's Note:**

> written mostly at work (it's dead here) for [winona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winonadanger)
> 
> un edited and fractured but hey, there's choking so

Mike has, like, a grudging level of respect for Travis Tanner up to the second he sees Harvey look a little rattled when no one's (so he thinks) in range. That split second look of panicky rage has Mike reaching for anything that looks vaguely weapon and more than chomping at the bit to go and hit the asshole all the way back to wherever the fuck he crawled from. 

The fury he feels, in hindsight, should probably have clued him into some things but that's a discussion for him and his brain to have in a calmer time when his boss' integrity and sanity is not at stake. But the point still stands, if Mike had less control he's not even kidding he'd burn the fucker’s house down. 

Harvey doesn’t look up from the documents across the table when Mike informs him of this but he gets the tiniest rueful smile and a, "Thanks, kid, but cockroaches are resilient," which is frankly even more terrifying because "thanks" was uttered by Harvey Specter with not a hint of sarcasm and holy fuck, they're screwed, what the fuck. 

And Harvey's got this permafrown going on and it's already way past ten o'clock, no one is here except them and if Mike doesn't do something now he's worried Harvey might blow a fuse so "Jesus, Harvey go home."

"No," is the response, weary like a general on a fucking battlefield, all resignation and bitter end and if Mike wasn’t already salting and burning Travis Tanner in his mind he sure as hell would be after that. 

"Yes," Mike says, because clearly he has given leave to his senses, or hey maybe he has a Harvey shaped death wish. It would explain so, so much. "I will drag you into a cab or you can call Ray."

That gets Harvey to look up at him, "I'm not going to call Ray," he says, with a look on his face that says 'how dare you suggest it' and Mike walks right over and stands in front of him, hand hovering close enough to grab if need be. 

"You are going home," Mike tells him, firm, and Harvey shakes his head, and then everything's kind of a blur because there's a hand around his wrist and Mike’s man enough to admit that Harvey touching him even with layers of clothing in between does things to him but this, this is around his wrist and Mike doesn’t have much experience of that. It’s proprietary and it’s hot and Mike lets Harvey pull him onto the couch, a little annoyed when Harvey lets go.

"You're not ordering me around are you, Mike?" There's a threat there, not even really hidden and Mike resolutely isn't blushing because come on that’s not at all fair. 

"Way I see it there are three options, two of which are likely to happen," Mike says aware of Harvey’s eyes on him, like he’s curious despite himself, "one, you stay here all night and in the morning you remember how unprofessional that is and hate yourself more than you so right this second. Two, we both take a trip to wherever Tanner’s holed himself up, with some matches and gasoline and do this shit right, that's the unrealistic one by the way in case you were wondering. Or three, you let me get you home." Mike winces at that but it's already happened and Harvey looks too caught up on the fire option to actually pay much attention to the fact that Mike has offered to go home with him. 

"We got away with this," Harvey says, waving a hand between the two of them, "think we could risk a murder?" And the fact Harvey's humouring Mike is ratcheting up the terror to a steady ‘I need to get both of us out of our minds before blood is shed or things are irrevocably ruined’.

“Please, Harvey,” he says, and his voice is a little strained. “Let’s go.”

But then Harvey's got a hand on his chest and the other loosely on his tie and Mike has lost any of the (slim, typically) control he had over this situation.

"If I asked you to," Harvey's saying, voice pitched low enough to do Things to Mike, "would you kill him?"

Mike’s brain is screaming at him, cataloguing where Harvey’s hands are, the pressure and the warmth of Harvey’s palm through his shirt. He’s never going to forget this, and at this point he’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, but he is sure that a tiny, dark part of him wants Harvey to use the hand on his tie to pull him closer, make the leash less metaphorical. He thinks it’s what Harvey wants too, maybe even what he needs to break out of this.

“Yes,” he breathes, and Harvey looks like he’s considering releasing him until Mike loses the battle not to whine. 

Harvey tightens the hand around Mike’s tie and tugs experimentally, watching as Mike resists only enough to up the pressure before he lets himself be pulled forward. Mike brings his own hands up, one to Harvey’s chest, stopping short of touching until Harvey nods. There’s a kind of glint returning to Harvey’s eyes which Mike puts down to a job well done. He wonders if he should extricate himself before things go too far but Harvey’s slipping his other hand into Mike’s hair and tugging his head back until his throat’s exposed and the rational part of his mind that deals with consequences is silenced under the howls of desperation from the rest of him. 

“Mike,” says Harvey, his voice honest to God gravel and Mike replays it in his head again and again. “Mike.” He’s starting to let go of Mike’s hair and Mike decides that he can’t have that, moves his own hand from Harvey’s chest to his shoulder, keeping him there.

“Please,” he says, his own voice wrecked and he’s harder than he’s been in a long time, almost painful in his trousers.

Harvey looks a little dazed but he tugs on Mike’s hair again eyes zeroing in on Mike’s throat working as he gasps. 

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place, Mike,” he says, then commands: “Take off your tie.” Then, off Mike’s hesitation: “Don’t argue.” and Mike starts fumbling with the knot, Harvey’s hand still in his hair while the other tugs Harvey’s own tie looser.

Mike offers him the fabric and Harvey smirks. “Good boy,” he murmurs, dropping the tie and opening Mike’s collar, pushing his shirt almost off his shoulders before he returns to wrap his hand around Mike’s throat. It's just the slightest bit of pressure, like Harvey isn't sure if Mike's okay with it, all Harvey's attention is on Mike now and it's exhilarating. When the pressure doesn't increase Mike decides that Harvey's gauging his reactions. 

He pushes his neck into Harvey's hand and Harvey increases the pressure. Mike lifts his hips off the couch, moaning and it seems like that's all the permission Harvey needs because he's shifting to loom over Mike, looking composed as ever save for a new intensity in his eyes, increasing the pressure incrementally. 

"You want this?" Harvey says, and Mike whines, hands on Harvey's chest, on his shoulders, his neck, anywhere and everywhere until Harvey grips tighter and Mike stills, a strangled noise struggling free. Harvey's eyes narrow and he starts to move away but Mike shakes his head, gasps "no," and "don't," and "please."

"What, Mike?" Harvey asks, "Tell me." 

And Mike's vision is blurring, he can feel his pulse thrumming against Harvey's palm but he's still so desperate and so hard. "Touch me," he says, voice thin and reedy, "God, Harvey please." 

Harvey, thankfully, doesn't need telling twice, pressing the heel of his hand to Mike's crotch, pressure matching the grip on Mike's throat and there's so much sensation Mike thinks he might pass out from the heat of it all. He thrusts up into it and Harvey laughs but tightens his grip, squeezes Mike's throat for a couple of seconds, admonishing.

"Be patient, Mike," he says, voice betraying nothing and Mike glares as well as he's able through the lightheadedness. The tighter Harvey's grip is the harder Mike gets, arching up off the couch with moans that barely make it out, strangled and needy and so fucking hot. 

Harvey grins and finally, finally opens Mike's fly and grips him, the sensation almost sending Mike over the edge right there because God he's never been this hard in his life. 

Dimly, Mike thinks that they haven't even kissed, that this isn't how it's supposed to go but Harvey's working him steadily and the pressure on his throat isn't letting up. The world is going fuzzy, it's a lot to take in at once, the lack of air mildly terrifying but not quite as much as the realisation that Mike feels completely safe despite it, that he trusts Harvey so completely to put his life literally in his hands. Harvey looks gorgeous, eyes fixed on Mike's face with this intensity that Mike thinks he could get addicted to, all of Harvey's attention just for Mike. 

Mike tries to breathe, last ditch attempt before the blackness closes in on him and Harvey lets him, and Mike's gasping for air as he comes, his whole body tensing then falling. He curls onto his side, coughing and gasping as the air returns, his ragged breathing the only sound in the room. 

Harvey pulls him close, running a hand up and down Mike's spine, soothing.

"Hey, breathe," he says. "You were so good, Mike, so good. You're okay." He keeps the litany up, soothing murmurs until Mike gets his breath back. 

"How'd you feel?" Harvey asks, and he's kind of looking at Mike like he's fragile, bound to break or run away, which Mike is absolutely not. 

Mike reaches up, hold onto Harvey's arm and uses it to leverage them closer. "Kiss me, Harvey," he says and Harvey laughs, leaning down and kissing him, gentle and almost chaste and Mike moans, long and low and thrilling with it. 

Harvey smiles, "Good boy."


End file.
